Seconds to Sunrise
by Anlynne
Summary: Dumbledore once said death was the next great adventure. He was right.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

Granger was dead. The snotty bookworm had been killed by some Death Eater on a raid through the Forest of Dean. Potter and Weasley got away. He didn't know how and he couldn't bring himself to care. All that mattered was the wild-haired and wild-heart Gryffindor girl was dead, and he was about to sleep as though it made no difference.

It shouldn't have made any difference.

Draco Malfoy didn't like Hermione Granger. In fact, he detested her. He hated her blood and her brains, and along with her stupid friends, he made fun of her. He spent many of a free time making their lives miserable. It was the best part of his day. Only now, looking back on those innocent childhood days within the castle walls, he craved to see her face again, a symbol of everything he hated in everything that he loved. The magical world, the magical school, her magical eyes, and now she was dead, and suddenly, the war was real and his blood was a shame.

He had seen people die, people that were mudblood and blood traitors. It was terrifying at first, but Draco was adept at shutting down compassion, and soon he learned to lower his gaze. Not a sign of respect, mind, but not to give a sign that he cared. He did care. No one could know that. No one could suspect.

Why couldn't he do it then? The mudblood was dead. He should have been happy - if he was raised right. While they were in rival Houses and on opposite sides of the war, and had known her as an enemy since they met at the age of eleven, he did know her. Part of his childhood was ripped away. Even if it was an annoying part that he once would love nothing more than to get rid of, it was gone.

If that was all of the truth, Draco was a liar.

Standing at the side of his bed he stared down at the neatly drawn covers. The houselves.

Granger and her S.P.E.W. The stupid buttons she made. The stupid fliers. The stupid ideals. The stupid compassion. The stupid girl. The stupid, idiotic, frizzy-haired monstrosity -

Draco seized a corner of the covers, and ripped them off. Violently he threw them over the room. Like a man without a mind, he screamed as he shoved the mattress to the floor. He wanted to cause damage. He wanted stare at the horror that was spinning in him, making him blind.

Breathing hard, he approached the window. It was dark and the lights were on, and all he could see was his mirrored reflection. His pale hair was crossing over his eyes and his cheeks were covered in a days worth of stubble. Normally, he would blanch at the thought of looking in such disarray, but everything that used to hold importance no longer held its usual status.

Lightning flashed in the distance, illuminating the hillside where he used to practice Quidditch. One sweet memory in one sweet second and in the next he saw Granger's face curtained by bushy hair hovering over his right shoulder.

He gasped and spun, and with his back to the cold glass, he looked at the dead girl in front of him.

She spoke. One word. His name. "Draco."

Draco fainted.

"Malfoy?"

He blinked, and a blurry Granger came to view. Only, her blurriness did not go away. She was watery, unreal. She was a ghost. Granger was a ghost and she was there.

"Granger." He groaned and sat up. "You're dead."

"One for the obvious, aren't you, Malfoy?"

"What in Merlin's trousers are you doing as a ghost?"

Her eyes glistened with what would have been tears, if she hadn't been dead. "Someone killed me..."

"Yeah, a Death Eater. So what?" _No one could know. Not even Granger._

"No..." She shook her head. "It wasn't a Death Eater." She reached for him, but her hand fell through his chest, and she emitted a wet gasp, a choke. "Malfoy... Ghosts... They stay back until they settled the reason why they died. I want to go... I have to go home."

Draco knew that she wasn't speaking of her mudblood house in her mudblood neighborhood with her mudblood parents. He never took Granger to be religious, but he could see how easily it could be for her. Reading a dusty old book written by dead people was a very Granger thing to do. In fact, that was all she did. "What do you want me to do about it?"

"You're the only one I can trust."

"I'm the last person you should trust. Why don't you haunt your friends? Where are Potter and Weasley?"

The translucent tears spilled over. "The wand I saw... It was Ron's wand. But... He couldn't have... It was taken. By a Death Eater. I want you to prove it. I want you to find Ron's wand. Please!"

"You're mad. You're a mad ghost, Granger." He scrambled to his feet, and stumbled back away from the girl.

Granger stayed on her knees, staring down at her hands. Or the floor. He couldn't tell.

"I want to fade away from this place the way I should have. You see... I shouldn't be here. I accepted that going with Harry meant that I was going to die. I can't go to them like this. I don't want to... I don't want to hurt them. You don't understand about hearts, Malfoy." She looked up through the parting in her mangy hair. "You broke mine."

"I told you what I was. I told you what I had to do!" Draco looked quickly to the door, praying that no one heard him, but it was silent. Everyone was in the parlor, mulling over their drinks, saluting a job well done for killing the brains of the operation. Potter would be an easy catch now that Granger was dead. If only they knew that Granger was with him.

"Remember, Malfoy?"

He looked at her, and memories cropped up of their short tryst, memories he buried long ago to keep both of them safe. There were secret glances, secret touches, a secret longing. He recalled what should have been their last stolen moment. It was after the Yule Ball. She was a mess from a fight with Weasley, out in the corridor in front of a frosted window, wiping her hot tears. He could have walked past her, but the image of how beautiful she was even in the state she was in wouldn't leave him. He should have left her, but he took her out onto the third floor, into an empty classroom that he decorated with icicles and snow.

_"Malfoy? What are you doing? If you plan on hurting me, I assure you one of the professors -"_

_ "Shut up, Granger. For Merlin's trousers, you never keep that gob closed, do you?" He set her outside of a door he knew was no longer in use. "If you're not here when I return, I'll make things difficult for you."_

_ "You say that as though it doesn't matter."_

_ "It doesn't matter."_

_ "You don't care?_

_ "I never _cared_, Granger." He slipped inside and quickly waved his wand at the walls, the ceiling, moving all of the desks aside. He brought out a wireless from a cupboard in the corner It played a ballad unknown to him as snow drifted softly from the ceiling. Icicles formed on every edged surface._

_ Draco opened the door. "Get in here, Granger."_

_ She ducked into the room hesitantly her hand tightly clutching her purse that no doubt had her wand in it. Her mouth gaped slightly at the sight before her. "It's lovely."_

_ He wanted to say the same about her, but without anymore words, he took her hand and pulled her to him. He rested his hand uncomfortably on her hips, they fit so perfectly. They swayed in time with his steps._

_ "Malfoy -"_

_ Hushing her, he whispered, "one more night."_

_ She nodded absently, her eyes far-off._

Now she was dead, and he could kill Potter and Weasley. He never liked the lot of them, but he never truly wished for their death. He did now. He wanted their heads on the wall with the other past houselves. He wanted them to see for themselves what became of their best friend, kneeling as a ghost before their worst enemy and former lover.

"Hermione," he whispered, and he flinched. Her name on his tongue was forbidden. It was worse than those muggle blokes she talked of. Roman and Julie - bollocks. He read the blasted script, and they could have been together. They ruined it. Him and Granger... They were doomed from birth. They had nowhere to go.

"Draco... Please... Help me."

He bowed in front of her, his knees just shy of hers. He reached out his hand to touch her wet cheek, but his fingers only grazed a winter's breath. That was all she was. It shouldn't have been. Hermione Granger of all people. The brightest witch of their age was gone and it was a waste. A waste of smarts.

Funny. All of his life he believed she was all but a waste of space, but now the truth reigned him in, forcing him to look at the real truth. Her transparent presence on the earth was a waste.

"I'll find Weasley's wand..." And if it was Weasley who killed her - accident or not - he would die by Draco's wand.

She should have never came to him. She should have never been a ghost. She should have done what he told her to, and stayed far, far away. He didn't know that her friends would be her doom, not him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

When Hermione appeared to be out of sight, he ordered his personal houself, Twitchy (he did have a twitch in his left eye, after all, and Draco was only four when he named him) to steal every visiting Death Eater's wand and to magically perform a reversal spell. The next night, Twitchy came to his side in the study, and squeakily told him the bad news that it was none of them.

"None of them," he asked the elf to be sure.

"None, sir."

"Give them back before they notice."

He popped out, and Draco's gut twisted. To think that Hermione's best friend murdered her... Weasley of all people. It was one thing, a Death Eater killing her; Draco would expect no less. It was what they did, they followed orders, and Hermione was the one of the top three Undesirables. But her best friend doing it... Why?

There had to be an explanation. Weasley fawned after Hermione like a stupid puppy. It couldn't have been him. Not to mention that he didn't have the guts it took.

Then who? Hermione would be awaiting his answer. Where she went he didn't know, but she would be there that night. He was sure of it. He decided that a long hot shower was what he needed before having to confront her.

The sun was sinking in the sky, and he had done enough reading for a lifetime. While he was going to hide away in the library far from the Death Eaters downstairs, he had thought to keep himself occupied.

In the bathroom he shed his clothes quickly, thinking of the hot water that waited to beat on his skin. He thought best in the shower, and he would think of how to break the news. He flung the shower doors open, and screamed, flailing hard on his back.

Hermione stood there, arms folded over her chest, a lethal glare printed on her normally kind face. "Draco, what were you thinking?"

"Bloody hell, Hermione, you nearly gave me heart failure."

"You told that poor elf to do your work?"

"He's a houself, that's what they're there for." He stood, and snatched a towel from the rack covering his bottom half. He wasn't shy, but he didn't necessarily like being told off whilst naked.

"You're pathetic."

"Get out, Hermione."

She smiled, that awful look that mocked him. He once jested with her, teasing about her goody-two-shoes ways, and he dared her to act like him once. The conclusion of the frightening smirk she gave him sent chills down his spine. He hated when she did that, and she knew it.

"Make me," she teased uncharacteristically, but there was that fire in her eyes, her hair would have been sparking to life then, if she had been alive.

"Good one," he allowed. "Get out."

She sighed and rolled her milky eyes to the ceiling. She glided right on through him, chilling his skin horribly, like she had dumped ice water over his head. Then, she was gone, through the door.

He hated her. He truly hated Hermione Granger. All those years of attempting to hate her had worked, and now, he hated her even more. The _stupid_ ghost.

Spinning the dial, Draco blasted the water as hot as it would go, and he doused himself in it. He scrubbed all traces of the ghostly webs of coldness from his skin. Like he was getting rid of mudblood germs. Traces of his Hermione, now gone from her life and his. Only, not from his. Even past her death, she was intent on torturing him with her presence. He could do nothing to escape her.

That night when he left her in the winter classroom, he made a silent vow that he would no longer think of her as anything but what was in her veins. She was nothing to him. She was nothing at all. Draco kept to that sacred vow, and he really didn't think of her any other way. However, at night, that was a different story. A nightmare. He dreamt of her and the could-be's. The way her hair fell over her face when she was reading her damn books, the way her hips moved as she walked, the way her shoulders were up to her ears and her arms laden down with those same damned books.

Even in his dreams, he wasn't able to escape her. She was in the strings of his heart, and it hummed with her essence. It was as though in their short time together, she gave him apart of herself, and he was never able to function the same way again. He even treated his houself with more respect because of her. If anything, he hated her for that.

He hated her.

He loved her.

Hermione was the most infuriating girl he had ever met, and she was more infuriating as a ghost. He couldn't run away from her when she could walk through walls. It made the whole prospect of living scary. He had to get rid of her soon, or else, she would hate him more in her death.

Once out of the shower and dressed, he searched for her. He went to the one place that she would most likely be: The library. And indeed, she was there.

Hermione leered over a table next to a plush hunter green chair where he had laid his book. She stared down at it in utmost concentration, as if she was memorizing every facet of its leather binding cover, the golden words in elegant calligraphy. Her hand hovered over it, and then, it lowered, and fell right through. Tears sprung in her sad eyes, and a sob emitted from her parted lips.

"Hermione."

She looked up, and shamefully turned her back to the book. "I... I thought I would..."

Draco didn't know why he did it, but he opened the book to its first page. Without knowing how to comfort her when he couldn't hold her, he left the room. It wasn't the time or the place. Draco simply couldn't talk to a depressed ghost. Hermione was beginning to cry more than Moaning Myrtle. That wasn't the problem, of course, it was that he was a terrible person.

Hermione thought not being able to hold a book was the worst thing in her death. She didn't know that the worst thing would be what last happened to her in her life.

Weasley killed her. Draco couldn't tell her. How could someone break a heart that no longer existed?


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Another Death Eater meeting. Another killing. The body, the blood oozing from the woman's mouth. It made him nauseous, and the only thing that healed that was a bottle of fiery liquid. He tipped the bottle back, and let the medicine burning down his throat. It made him forget for a little while what he had seen. It stopped him from caring too much.

Draco strolled into his room, and there, sitting (floating, but the silly act was nearly the same) was Hermione. Her face was tear streaked in silver.

For once, he would love to come into his room without seeing this blubbering mess before him. Quickly, he downed the rest of his drink, and laid it on the corner table. It couldn't have been what he was drinking, but he noticed her clothes, dirty and hanging off of her limp form. They didn't change. Ghosts stayed in the clothes they died in. There was a rip in her jeans, right at the knee, and a splotch that must have been blood.

"Maybe..." She inhaled a trembling breath. "Maybe we ought to have it out."

"What are you going on about?"

"Draco," she said, as if the conclusion to whatever the question was should've been obvious. "If we fight then our hatred and anger will be out of our system!"

"It's not that easy," he said coldly.

"I believe it is."

"I believe you've been dead for too long."

She drew herself up to her full height, a head shorter than him. He found it amusing at her attempts to act as though it was like old times, like she couldn't simply raise herself taller. "Ferret," she spat.

He guffawed at her attempt. "Know-it-all."

"Bully."

"Medusa."

"Prat."

They continued with their epitaphs as if they were in their First Year. They grew louder and louder and Draco was very glad that he had the wing to himself. No one was going to hear them.

"Buck-tooth!"

"Rodent-face!"

"Mudblood!"

Hermione paused, in her eyes was a flash of pain, and all went suddenly silent. Wind creaked the windows. "You just called me a mudblood," she noted softly.

Draco snapped his jaw shut. He hated the expression that he caused. He caused that hurt. He caused her pain, and that girl had most certainly had plenty of that from Death Eaters and Weasel and Potter and... Him.

Then, a miraculous thing happened. Hermione grinned. "There's no blood now, Draco."

He flinched. "Hermione..." He didn't know how to say sorry.

She shook her head. "It no longer matters. There's nothing to hate about each other, don't you see?"

Hermione was wrong. There was something to hate. Her being dead, the inability to kiss her, to hold her, to even touch her. There were a lot of things to hate, and he hated the bastard that killed her. He hated that she was taken away before he could have her. He never took the chance to kiss her, not wanting to make it permanent, to trick his brain into thinking his life was perfect, and now he would never know what it would feel like.

"Where are your parents, Hermione?" The words came without thought. It was a question that had propped itself in the back of his mind since that first night he saw her, but only then he voiced it. Then, while his liquid courage could loosen his tongue, make him act brash. In addition to that, he didn't want to talk about what occurred downstairs. He knew that she was watching, had witnessed the sacrifice of the muggle woman. It was not that spying was a Hermione trait, it was her mates trait, and unfortunately, it rubbed off on her.

She took in a deep breath, going along with not speaking of the murder. "I altered their memories. To keep them safe." She took another unneeded breath. "They don't know they have a daughter." The tears poured faster.

"Why don't you see them? Just... Disappear or something and be with them."

"I wasn't supposed to be here. Not... Stuck like this. I can't bear to be with them when I'm not alive."

He didn't understand, but he never understood Hermione's logic. At least not about the emotional blabbers.

"You think it's Ron, don't you?" She looked at him, eyes wide, ready to hear it.

He couldn't say it. He couldn't cut her to her core when he was unable to heal her. Instead, Draco didn't say a word. Apparently, that was worse than saying yes, for her eyes welled up and the sadness cascaded down her cheeks.

Why did she have to cry? She was always crying. It infuriated him. Crying was going to do her no good. Her tears weren't even real, they were nothing because she wasn't real.

Yet, there she was, collapsing on his bed, weeping. And he could do nothing about it.

"Sorry." It was short, but meaningful. He was taught at a young age to never apologize to anyone but respectable elders. That meant, he had never apologized to a friend, to an equal. The single exception was Hermione, and right then, he was sorry. He was so deeply regretful he didn't understand how he could contain it or why he couldn't shut it down. It did him no good. And the bottle was empty.

What kind of story started from the end, anyhow? They had their short-lived romance, they fought on opposite sides of a war, and she died. End of story. Bitter and tragic. It was perfect. That obviously wasn't enough for the mudblood. She had to find out who killed her, because fucking hell, it was Granger, and she had to know everything.

"Accept your death and leave this alone." He meant it. He wanted her gone.

"Not until I know it was Ron."

"Then go find him," he nearly yelled. He attempted to contain his voice only because he had no desire for his mother to run in and see her there. She would be there, he would place a bet on it, because she would worry over him all night for what he witnessed. Although, he suspected Hermione would disappear long before his mother arrived.

"Not like this," she insisted. "I don't want him to see me like this."

"He might've killed you!"

She shook her head. "Innocent until proven guilty."

He bent into her translucent face, refusing to shy away from the coldness that emitted from it. "Then I'm bloody well innocent."

She stood, and he backed away quickly before she could douse him iciness again. "If you ever cared for me, Draco Malfoy, you'll find out who killed me."

Draco didn't have the chance to argue, for she vanished right then. He wondered where she went, but decided it didn't matter.

He wanted nothing more than to refuse her, but she would never leave him in peace.

It was better to believe that he wanted to find her killer. More so, he was certain it was Weasley. Little did she know that when Weasley was found (if he wasn't killed), he would be brought to the Manor, and without questions asked, he would murder him. He would kill the man that stole the only good thing about him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

In the harsh light of the morning that swept into the nearest corner was Hermione. She had curled herself into a ball, her chin between her knees, watching him blink in the sun's rays. She was innocent and frail and unreal to be in the days honesty. Like a child. What kind of cruel twist was it that someone had to die when they were seventeen? They were only seventeen...

He pushed the blankets off of him, ignoring the chill that made his hair stand on end. It was always colder with her in his room. "What is it?" He knew what was wrong, but something still compelled him to ask.

"I want to go home."

"Follow the light, Hermione." It was part of a joke, but he was serious. This unfinished business was bollocks. If there was to be a light for anyone to follow, it should have been for her. She didn't deserve to be stuck in this horrendous world. He wasn't a fan of what was fair, but in her case it made no sense. How could anyone take away the wings of an angel?

"No... I can't. I... just... can't. You have to help me."

"What do you think I've been trying to do," he snapped, but instantly felt remorse at the sight of pain in her eyes. He didn't want to hurt her, he only wanted her to go away. "I don't help anyone. Why can't you disappear?"

"There is no bright light! There's nothing to go toward. Draco, I know when you find my killer then I can leave. You have to find out who killed me and then I can move on. I can't do it myself. Time will run out. Whoever it was... Harry and Ron should be at rest. They won't..."

"So that's what this is about? It's not about you. It's about Potter and Weasley."

"Time will run out."

He shook his head. "Why do you say that for?"

"We're in the midst of a war. When a Wizard dies, if his wand is not stolen then it is broken. Surely you can figure out the rest for yourself."

Draco hated being talked down to like a child, and he wanted nothing more than to hit her – girl or not, but she was right. Hermione Granger was always right. Most times, that was what he hated most about her. If the person that killed Granger was killed, then they would never know who it was.

"I have every Wizard checked when he comes into the Manor. Why don't you get it through your bushy head; accept that it's your blood-traitor Weasel that murdered you!"

She floated upright, staring into his eyes. It was unsettling, for he didn't see any trace of the dirt brown that he loved. There was nothing but mist. It sickened him, a reminder that she wouldn't be the Granger he loved to loath. She wasn't anything at all and she should have never been something in the first place.

"Please."

The whisper was a dagger. He wasn't able to speak, he simply walked out of his room, leaving her there with every possibility to follow and knowing that she wouldn't. She was crying, and the fact that he couldn't hear her meant nothing. She was always crying.

Draco shut himself in the study. It was darker but somehow, the books lining the cold stone walls warmed him. As if their stories shielded him from her but it did little good, as books and Hermione, they went hand-in-hand.

He waved his wand to a few of the brackets and flames shot up and shadows eclipsed him. It was a trick of the eye, fooling him to believe that ghosts were everywhere. Ignoring the feeling that he was being watched by her - or worse, Death Eaters, he snatched a random book from a random shelf and pointed his wand at the meaningless words on a page too dark to read. He then pointed in front of him over the bookcases and the brackets and over the windows, the brightly glowing words settling in the air. From crevice of the ceiling to the floor he traveled to every wall of the room until all was covered in shiny inky words.

Again, he was at a lost for why he was doing it, why he was being nice to the former mudblood. Especially now.

Perhaps because, like she said, there was no blood to discriminate against. She was dead.

_"What's better than a dead mudblood? Two!"_

That joke used to make him laugh. He would sit in his common room at Hogwarts listening to Blaise Zabini's lame jokes, and he would laugh prompting Gregory and Vincent to laugh as well as they were too slow witted to catch up on their own. However, when her face came to mind, Hemione's face with her light freckles unnoticeable until closer inspection, it twisted his stomach. She was really dead, and those freckles, they weren't there anymore.

How was one supposed to mourn for someone they were supposed to hate? How were they supposed to mourn when that person wouldn't stop haunting them?

Draco fell into a cushioned chair, staring at the words waving before him, transfixed. It would have been nice, to talk to his parents, but they never knew about the real Hermione. If they did, he would have never been able to return home, and maybe that would have been best, in retrospect. Maybe his family would be safer, and maybe Hermione would be alive.

Whoever killed her must have taken her off-guard. She was anything but an easy kill. While she wasn't the best in Defense Against the Dark Arts, she knew spells that would make the Snatchers weep. It couldn't have been an important Death Eater, in that case. Snatchers were the most pathetic sort. Except... Scabior was knowledgeable. He wasn't thick, wasn't bright, but he was the most valuable Snatcher there was. If he snuffed her life while she was running... If she didn't see him... It was plausible.

He had his first suspect. Now how to get to Scabior to test his wand...

The worst case scenario was that he was going to join Hermione if he was caught. It was not the most pleasant thought, but it was better than thinking he'd be living with a depressed ghost for the rest of his life.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Screaming and the distinct sounds of breaking glass woke Draco. He shot up in his bed, his wand in front of him, searching for the source of the disruption with every intent of eliminating it. However, when he found the source, the light of his wand shimmering over her, it reminded him that the annoying girl had been already killed.

Every morning he expected it to be some sort of dream. He wanted it over, and yet... He never wanted it to end. He could see Hermione, he could talk to her. Although she was just as infuriating and annoying as she was when she was alive, there wasn't a second he wasted in truly wishing her away. He didn't realize how nice it was to have company. He didn't realize how lonely he had been.

"Go to sleep, Granger." He mumbled, throwing the pillow over his face once more. It wasn't until after his eyes were closed and he was one flying dragon away from sleep that he remembered Hermione didn't sleep.

"Get your bum up now, Malfoy!"

He groaned, tearing his fingers into the pillow, throwing it to the opposite end of the bed. "You're insane, Granger. You are off your fucking rocker. Do you realize it's three in the morning? That means that people who aren't ghosts are sleeping. Since you are a ghost, you don't sleep, but I'm not troll's breath and I do need it!" Hermione folded her arms in an indignant and stubborn nature, but it was by means of blocking out his insults. She was always good at that... With one lazy comment he could have Potter and Weasley threatening him with curses. Hermione was the one who played the peace-keeper. Draco hated it at first, just like how he hated her, but it grew on him. In fact, he felt admiration for her. There was no way that Draco could do it. He enjoyed the fight too much.

"Why is Luna in the cellar?"

At that one simple question, he was awake. He rolled off the bed, the covers tangled around his ankles, and he kicked them off furiously. Hermione waited, but her eyes were ablaze in fury, and it made him a little nervous, his heart beating wildly. The sheet was knotted over his foot and he tripped while trying to untie it, and he fell, his face near shards of glass, his cheek and chin in water. It was his glass, the one he always set beside his bed before sleep.

"What happened?" He lifted his face, feeling it drip down to his chin. "How did you do that?"

Hermione groaned. "When I'm angry..." She gestured.

It made sense. They learned that in class, that a ghost was made of energy (the popular assumption they were made of their own breath), so when they expressed a strong enough emotion, things could break, they became more solid. It was only temporary, but it was something. It gave him chills. That, or the water did. It was still cold.

"Luna." She reminded him.

He stood, wiping the water from his face with the back of his hand. "They got her when she was at school. Her father was printing in that ruddy paper to 'Support Harry Potter.' They took her to get him to stop." He sat on the bed, still as tired as when he went to sleep. He preferred to set his wand to wake him but when was the last time he actually got to use it since she arrived?

Then, a horrible idea occurred to him, and he stood once more. "You didn't go see her?"

She sighed heavily. "Yes, I did. She was most pleased with my appearance. The only people she sees all day are _Ollivander_ _and Dean." _The last three words were bold and highlighted, her tone the tip of a knife.

"It was the Dark Lord's -" she flinched "- orders for Ollivander. Dean was a runaway. We kept him down there."

"Why don't you help them?"

"I do!"

"I know about you sending extra food down and the blankets." Her face softened greatly. "I meant... Why don't you release them?"

"I can't do that, Granger." She flinched again at the sound of her surname. She knew it was how he blocked her out, forgetting what they once were. "It's not my decision."

"Set them free and go with them."

"I'm not leaving my family."

Tears sprung in her eyes. He was getting sick of seeing that. He remembered the only reason he put up with Moaning Myrtle was because he had no one else to talk to. Truth was, he still didn't. Hermione was all he had. A sense of longing pained him deep in his stomach.

"Okay," she relented. "But I'm staying down there with them. You can come and see me when you find my murderer."

"Are you sure you're not better off with your hero?" But he said it too late. She was gone, floating through his personal fireplace.

That night, when he snuck food down to the cellar, he saw Ollivander huddled in the corner, the Goblin in the opposing nook, and Luna and Hermione talking dead-set (pun unintended) in the middle of the room.

He pitched Luna an apple which she caught without looking. The girl had a creepiness about her that sent chills down his back. Yet, she was sort of pleasant in a way that calmed him. With Luna things were black and white, and she admitted that nothing was ever so simple. She was a contradictory form of relief and he sent her food only to be in her sunshine presence for a little while. A reminder of sweeter days from someone who didn't hate him.

The cause of her lack of hatred was because she saw right through him. The reason he stayed. That was one of her creepy factors. Worse yet, she saw right through his love for Hermione. A week after her arrival, when he obtained the gumption to see her, she said, "someone who loves Hermione can't be all bad." Just like that, she liked him. Always had.

Like he said, creepy.

"Thank you," she said in that airy tone. "I was feeling peckish. You have met Hermione," she waved her hand at the ghost.

"Yes."

"It's sad to see her as a ghost, isn't it?"

It wasn't sad, it was devastating. Draco didn't say that aloud. He didn't say anything at all.

"It is good to see her. She won't be staying long, Draco. You should spend time with her." As if Hermione were simply a guest that stopped by on a visit to a house he generously shared with Luna. "You're welcome to sit with us."

Draco shook his head. "I've got to go."

Right then there was the the sound of the heavy front doors of the Manor slamming closed, they reverberated, muffled but loud. Snatchers, probably. Yet, something in his gut told him that it wasn't the normal routine, that it wasn't just anyone they were bringing in. There was a foreboding, and he became very aware that he couldn't be caught down there with them.

"I wonder who that is. You have company, Draco."

"Stay here, all of you." He was talking to Hermione specifically, as the others couldn't possibly leave. He turned and ran up the stairs and locked the door behind him. One deep breath and he rushed into the drawing room hoping that no one saw where he emerged from.

What he saw made his body go still. Even his heart stopped.

* * *

><p>AN: For a warning, this is a short story and there will be six more chapters (that's including an epilogue).

And please don't mind the sparse coarse language, if it bothers you you are more than welcome to stop reading. It will not hurt my feelings.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Draco's mind was a blur. Snatchers (Scabior among them) stalked into the Manor with Weasley and Potter. At least, Potter with a messed-up face, bloated and harsh looking, but it was evident that it was Draco's nemesis. The scar was stretched but the green eyes were unmistakable, the look of pure fear that the hero use to save for Dementors on the Quidditch field. Draco had called him nothing but weak, but the ugly truth was that Draco was afraid of them too. It was impossible not to be, everyone had things to be afraid of, things they weren't proud of. That didn't mean he would ever admit to it, and that definitely didn't mean that he would ever _faint_ from it.

His parents and Aunt Bellatrix ordered Draco to identify them so they could call upon the Dark Lord. Yet he couldn't give a clear answer, something inside him screamed against it. Two years ago, he would have loved nothing more than to be in the position to hand the blood-traitor and Scarface (the boy who denied his friendship) over to the Dark Lord. It would have been sweet justice. Suddenly, he found that cruelty didn't have the same allure that it used to. He had seen enough of it, and his hectic thoughts lied with the girl in the cellar (if she was indeed in the cellar and hadn't come to take a sneak peek at what was taking place).

He had to say something. Giving them up would mean that the Dark Lord would be called. Draco couldn't bear to be in his presence, the ever-constant fear that the people he loved most in the world were going to die. It took a simple flick of the wand for the Dark Lord. The single upside to the whole doomed situation was that Hermione was already dead. It was uncanny - and maybe a bit sick - to be glad that she was dead. Then again, if she was alive, she would be there in the Manor with him. He had seen what they did to mudbloods...

There was nothing he could do. He could rule the minds of most of his fellow Slytherins, but not in the big leagues. No, he had no influence, especially not when they were not in the graces of the Dark Lord. Even Goyle was turning against him. The boy followed him around like a lost Puffskin since the day they met in Diagon Alley. Now he had himself and a ghost to rely on.

"I can't – I can't be sure."

Potter and Weasley were thrown into the cellar. The cellar. With Hermione.

While the others were debating and arguing on what the next move would be, he snuck away. It wasn't hard as he had become a recluse since he received the Dark Mark. They wouldn't know he was gone for at least ten minutes. That gave him more than enough time to check on the capture.

When he arrived in the hallway, his right foot slipping on the Persian rug, his houself popped in front of him. He held out two wands for him to inspect.

"Check them, will you?" He couldn't be bothered, not then. It couldn't have come at a worse time.

The houself picked one, a knobby short one and held it out for him. He had already checked, apparently.

Draco accepted it, and exhaled a gust, whistling as he did so. "Which one did this wand belong to?"

"To the ginger one, sir."

Oceans of sickness sloshed inside his head. Draco knew it. Pushing the houself to the side, he spoke through the door announcing himself, ordering them to stay away from the door where he could keep an eye on them. Then he entered and trotted down the steps.

The first thing he saw was Weasley's face stark white, and frankly, a little green. His head looked like it belonged to a collection of morbid Christmas decorations. When Draco killed him perhaps he would use his head as an ornament on his tree.

Potter didn't look so good either, as though he was about to be sick all over the wall he was leaning against. Luna was the only one who seemed perfectly at ease with the situation, for even Hermione appeared as if she would die, and that was a stretch.

Hermione hung her head, refusing to look him in the eye. He didn't know what that meant, but he answered her unasked question. "I got the wand."

"I know."

Her hair fell in front of her face, but he saw a glimmer on her cheek. At that, Draco pointed his wand at the stupid Weasel. "Time to say goodbye."

Hermione floated forward faster than his eyes could take in the frigid wind, the blear of white. His arm was encased in a bucket of ice, and Hermione looked up at him pleadingly. "Don't."

"He murdered you!"

"It was an accident! We were all running, we were escaping Snatchers! I cursed a Death Eater and I told them to go - to disapparate without me, but Ron didn't... It happened so fast, we... Ron was trying to protect me. It was an accident, Draco!"

"So he says."

"Ron has never lied to me."

"Murder is a good incentive to do so, don't you think?"

"For you it may!"

He paused, bearing into her, ignoring every impulse to jerk away from her. "I've never took anyone's life, Hermione. I especially wouldn't take yours!"

"Please?" Her hands still stayed near his, without holding, without really touching. The greatest ache he had ever known was that if she was alive, then she was close enough to embrace. He could never embrace her again.

It was impossible to deny her, not with the way her eyes were watering. He cursed under his breath, and let his arm fall to his side - if for nothing more than to escape the cold. "Fine. So be it. He'll be dead anyway when the Dark Lord comes. I must go."

"No. Draco!" She cried as he walked away.

He spun and waved her off. "Go! You're reason for staying is gone! Weasley killed you, that's the end of it."

"It's not! You have to get them out of here!"

"Then what, Hermione? I get them out and then I go with them? Are you going to stick around to make sure their heads don't get blown off? Do you want to stay to see their children? The grandchildren? You're dead, Granger. Come to terms with that and leave. You're not wanted here."

She stood stoic, unaffected. "I will leave you alone forever, Malfoy, when you get them out of here."

"I can't. And I have to go before they know I'm gone."

"Malfoy -"

"Shut. Up!" She flinched, but the burning in his veins stopped him from caring, stopped him from feeling anything but the anger he felt toward her. "I kept my end of the bargain."

Before he closed the cellar door, before it clicked closed, he heard her broken sob. It seared right through him. He leaned his back against the door, his head banging softly, cushioned by his hair. Closing in his eyes, he tried to feel angry again, but it slipped away.

Draco had made her cry. Again. He made a girl that set a star's gleam in his life to tears, and there was nothing he could do about it.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he whispered.

Without looking, he flipped the lock. He hoped they heard it clicked as he rejoined his family in the drawing room.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Draco's family's screams echoed in his brain. It vibrated in the sinews of his senses. It unraveled him, shook the pieces left of him. The crucio was only the second worst pain he had felt next to knowing that his family was being tortured too. The Dark Lord was merciless, angry that they got away, and Draco knew they were lucky they weren't killed. His enemies, the only people left of her family.

He flitted in and out of sleep. Dusk of orange and yellow sky, a navy blue night, and then the blackest of nights with scattered stars splayed in his window. Hazy dreams of yells and pleading. Tossing and so bodily sore that tears leaked, he was barely coherent to realize that he was in his bed, and not on the floor in the drawing room subjected to the torture any longer. It went on and on, a never-ending hell.

He shook, a chill cascading over him. Sweat like ice poured out of his pores. He begged to die, to be let go of every bit of guilt he felt. It was his fault, because he loved a mudblood girl. It was all his fault, and he was sorry.

_"It's not your fault..."_ Whispered an angel's voice. _"You don't want death, Draco... Wake up, please... You did well..._ You did so well, Draco."

Hermione was perched at his side, her hand of Antarctica's temperature caressing his forehead and cheeks. It chilled him horribly but he didn't dare stop her.

"Hermione," he gasped.

"Your parents and aunt are safe."

The pain of worry compressed on his chest like stones, and were suddenly lifted at those words. He felt broken, but it was nothing in comparison to knowing that it was over. The night was over, and tomorrow they would begin again to make amends, to gain back their status. However... With Hermione tending to him it meant nothing. His status was nothing if the girl was still with him. Why hadn't she moved on?

"You're still here."

She nodded, but her eyes were far away and contemplative.

"Why?"

Crossing her arms, she floated to the window. "I don't understand... I should go on, but I don't _see_ anything. Where do I go?"

The words were out of Draco's mouth before he could stop them. "Stay here." What was he saying? He was doing everything so she would _go_ and be out of his life. He didn't want her there, but the mere thought of her being gone... What would he do without her?

"I can't."

"Why not?"

She turned, and sighed, her shoulders slumping with a weight greater than the world. "I don't belong here. I have to leave."

"This is wrong." He was speaking out of his head again. At least, that's where he thought the words were coming from. "You shouldn't have died. You should get married, have kids. Marry the stupid Weasel, have a boy and a girl and live."

She shined at the prospect, and he wanted to hurl one of her bloody books through her head. It wasn't what he really wanted for her, but it was what she deserved. If he had his way, Potter would win the war and Draco would win Hermione. They would marry have a boy and a girl, and live. Live... Something she would never be able to do again, but the words came out anyway. "Or you could've married me."

She smiled graciously. "That is it, I suppose. I could have. If I were alive."

"Maybe there's a spell -"

"Oh, Draco. You know better than that. No spell can bring back the dead."

"To replace? Death wants a token. It doesn't matter who it takes. I'll go in your place."

The expression that crossed her was indescribable. It was a mixture of fear, of contrite, and... Something he had never seen, so therefore, it didn't have a name. "You can't bring me back, Draco."

Not to the world. Not to his world. He couldn't bring her back to him. That didn't mean he was going to give in. There was always a way out, a way around. It's what Aunt Bellatrix told him. That if one didn't get one's way, it would blast it to hell. There was a way to Hermione, a way out or around, and if he had to blast something, he would, but he would not give up. He couldn't give her up. He _wouldn't_ give her up.

"No." She was adamant. "Even if there was such a spell - and I highly doubt that such exists - I could never - not that it would matter, because no -"

"I get it," he interrupted. "Fine. I thought..."

"I appreciate your kindness."

"Is that what it's called? Kindness?" He swung off his bed, shaking. Due to what happened in the drawing room or what he was feeling. Regardless, he felt he could barely keep his wits about him. "To bloody hell with kindness, Hermione! You think I'd take anyone's place? I love you. I bloody love you!" He had never said the words aloud, but as they passed his lips, he knew that they were truer than anything he had said in his life. "I love you."

Tears. More tears. "You shouldn't love a ghost."

"What if I do?"

She shook her head, her wild hair slapping her face without contact and faded.

"No! Hermione!"

She was gone. He stood. He stood alone in his room in the very spot where he last saw her. He didn't know if he would ever see her again, but he had high hopes. He had the rest of his life to wait for her.

The window cast back his reflection, and his spirits rose. It was where he first saw Hermione, when she first came for him. Him and no one else. Not that bloody Weasel by any means.

Then... How wretched was he to be waiting for a ghost?

He picked up his chair, firm in his hands, as real as anything, and he threw it out the window, breaking his reflection and the memory of hers.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

The only mansion that was bigger than the Malfoy's was the Zabini's, and to rival the Malfoy's was Nott's. It was barely a mansion, but it was too big for an ordinary house of medium standards. The lounge was bigger than his own, and two staircases flanked him, a balcony above. It wasn't the first time he thought it was beautiful than his mansion. It was more colorful as well. It was not in his taste, the windows and sunshine and all, and it wasn't Theo's either.

Theo, a scrawny and sandy-haired man languidly made his way down the right staircase, his bored expression changing into one of supreme interests as it landed on Draco. "What's the matter, mate?"

Draco walked beside him, out to the garden where they sat on a low wall made by Houselves hands. It would have infuriated Hermione to know they had done such hard labor for no pay. He could almost smile at that, but it was exactly why he was there. She was why he was sitting on the same wall him and Theo had once traded Chocolate Frog cards and converse of Quidditch matches; in the same garden where they played as children.

"Hermione," Draco answered him.

Theo was the only friend of Draco's. Goyle and Crabbe were lackeys - and terrible ones at that. Theo was the single wizard he trusted. Thus, Theo knew everything about her.

"Is this because she's dead?" He was referring to Draco using her given name, but he couldn't get past the callousness that Draco so appreciated. How perfect of a fit he was with Luna. If only people knew they had made a go of it. Unfortunately, everyone (him, Luna and Theo) kept that a secret. A hard thing to do around Slytherin's, but they managed to make it work, even when it didn't work between him and Luna. Draco never knew the reason it didn't last, nor did he ask.

"She's not exactly dead..."

"Scabior confirmed it, no?"

"She came back."

Theo stood and placed himself in front of him, taking a good look into his eyes. "You don't look crazy."

"A ghost."

Theo nodded, a small smile tugging at his thin lips, not a bit phased. "That's not like Granger."

"It is," he argued. "Her mission is to make everyone miserable."

"Still in love with her then."

"You may be my best mate, but I will hex you, Theo."

His smile widened into a grin and Draco told him everything he knew. At the end, there was a low whistle through his loose lips. Just like Theo, he put very little effort into anything, even being surprised.

"Let me get this right. You rescued a bunch of Potter and his allies and a ghost right under a bunch of Death Eater's noses?"

"Right."

"That's brave. Be careful, you may be a Gryffindor after all."

"I'll curse you," he threatened emptily, although it felt very real. He felt that in that moment, in weakness and terror he could do his best friend harm.

"I hear ya, Draco. This is funny."

"This is not funny."

"Of course it is. And considering you had my girlfriend -"

"Your ex," he reminded him.

He waved his hand as if that mattered not, "you had her locked up in your cellar without telling me."

Correction: Draco told Theo _almost_ everything. He had good reason to keep it from Theo as he didn't want his best friend to be mad at him. He didn't need another enemy. "You know I had to keep her there. It was safer for her in my cellar than out with Snatchers picking up everyone for a sickle."

"You better have cared for her."

"The works." He kicked the ground, tufting up the grass, remembering when he once his legs weren't long enough to reach to the ground. It was long ago, when things like burning Dumbledore's Chocolate Frogs were a highlight and conversations only went as deep as scores. When fights only consisted on who let the snitch loose.

"I need your help in a spell," he told him.

"What spell?"

"A spell for ghosts to stay or to get my hands on a Time-Turner - something!"

The laughter was gone and Theo turned serious. "Drake, there's no such thing -"

"Anything, Theo!"

He sighed, sinking lower. "Draco, listen to me. The trio and their bandits smashed all the Time-Turner's ages ago."

His cheeks heated and he jumped to his feet. "Then give me a spell!"

"Who do you think I am? Granger? I don't know of a spell. I didn't make as good as marks as you even. But I do know that nothing can bring back the dead."

Draco stood, kicking at the stone wall, scuffing his black leather shoes. "Death wants a token. He sees no faces, we are all just numbers. I can take Hermione's place if it comes down to that."

"You've lost it, mate."

His face heated. "Because you have not lived under a microscope of your dad does not mean we all have the privilege of choosing what we want to be!" Pulling his sleeve up roughly he showed the tattoo that Theo had seen many times, not only on Draco but on his own dad. "This, _this_ is why she should hate me. _This_ is why I have to do better." He pushed his hands against the stones as he thought about pushing the whole wall over.

Maybe he was losing it.

"Don't play games with me, Theo. You've read more on the books of the dead than anyone I know. If you _know_ something I demand you tell me."

"You are the one playing a dangerous game."

"Will you help me or not?"

Theo inspected a pebble as if he was in consideration, he rolled in between his fingers, the sun glinting a speck of gold in it, a perfect match to his hair in the sun. "She's dead. There's nothing to be done."

"You're useless."

"Sorry, Drake." It was monotone and flat, but Theo meant it. It was years of experience that told him when Theo was being genuine, and that was all the time. Unless to adults. Theo lied to adults for fun.

A jagged piece of rock cut into Draco's hip as he leaned against it. The way he felt was as though eighty years was pressing against his shoulders. A defeated man. "I don't need your pity."

Theo was unaffected, and he knew that was Draco's way to end the conversation, that he wasn't able to knock sense into him. He walked away, leaving Draco helpless and hopeless.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

Bodies of every side were lying on the broken stones. He jumped over that boy - Creevey. He hid behind statues until chunk by chunk they were blown away. He moved like a snake through the hallways, staying low and invisible, with the only instinct to stay alive and willing to kill in the worst way to do so. Drenched in sweat strands of his hair clung to his forehead and ears, and he prayed in a way that he never had prayed before that something would end it all. He didn't care which side won as long as he was able to go home with his parents, where it was safe.

The particular statue he was hiding behind then couldn't have been described. It was a hunk of nothing. He didn't even know what floor he was on. He ran and threw minimal spells - spells only to get him to the next place. The arm of the statue was blown to tiny fractures, spraying over him harder than hail. He crawled to the hallway, stood, and ran into the nearest door. It had to be luck that it had a door. Most of the castle of Hogwarts was destroyed, blurring the line from inside and outside. The night to despair.

Draco found a desk and hid himself under it like the coward he was. He normally would have scoffed at the notion of being frightened, but he was. It was as simple as that. He wanted out in any way possible.

It had been weeks since he saw Theo. Where was he now? Surely he was not fighting. Likely he was off someplace else avoiding the whole war. Draco was suddenly more envious of him than before. Theo's father expected nothing of him, and the girl he had liked, she was alive. In fact, she was fighting. He saw Luna with that Thomas bloke, fighting away Dementors.

It felt like ages since he had seen Hermione. She never returned and he assumed she had gone off with someone else. He never thought that a ghost could leave an area, like Myrtle never left Hogwarts, but if she was there, she would have had to have seen him. She would have even had to comment on the amount of books he had been reading on the subject of ghosts, each as useless as the last.

_One cannot summon back the dead._

_ Death is a tragic but necessary part of life._

_ Subjected to death it is permanent._

He placed his hands on the sides as the building shook again. The ceiling was failing on him. Hot tears streamed down his face, down his neck, and to the neckline of his robe. How long could a battle last? They were closing in on twenty-four hours.

The building shook once more, and he could hear the sounds of wood splintering, it falling over the desk, flecking his dragon hide shoes. He winced. That was it. He was dead. Whoever was coming through the door was going to kill him. It no longer mattered whose side they were on, because since his family's downfall he was wanted everywhere. Every Death Eater hated him for being the son of Lucius and being the spitting image of him. He was doomed.

"Hermione," he whispered. "God Hermione, if you can hear me..." He opened his eyes, and saw nothing but the loosened stones in the wall. It was about to give in, let the whole place would bury him. He was going to die. He didn't want to die.

A mauled face appeared in front of him, his nose offset of his face, and his chin and neck coated in a thick layer of blood that filled Draco's nostrils.

"There you are. Little Drakey hiding under a desk. How cute." The tip of the wizard's stubby wand flicked his nose. "Say goodbye Malfoy."

He closed his eyes. _Goodbye, Hermione._

There was a scuffle and the man yelled. Draco opened his eyes soon enough to see Hermione in front of him, her hand stretched behind her, pressing to his chest, pushing him out of the way as green sparks illuminated her bone white face. Yet, all he could think was that he felt her touch. Her icy touch numbed the beat of his heart.

_ His face near shards of glass._

_ His cheek and chin in water._

_ When they expressed a strong enough emotion, things could break, they became more solid._

The man stumbled backward with another giant yelp before scrambling out of the room. Hermione backed herself up against the wall looking as scared as Draco, but a satisfied smile presented itself on her lips.

"Hermione," he sighed. There was little chance she heard his prayer for her, but he would have very much liked to have believed it.

The young woman sat across from him. "When I was little I wanted to be a witch." It seemed like a random thing for Hermione to say, but he smiled because he remembered her telling him that once, a very long time ago in another life.

"I remember."

"It seems silly now, to think I was always a witch! Other girls wanted to be fairies. They thought I was a bit odd."

He always thought she was odd, and he held that point of reference against anyone who claimed to have it before him. "And now you're giving a go at being a guardian angel?" When it was clear that she was only going to shrug and smile, he said, "how about Potter and Weasley?" He didn't want to bring them up in their moment of triumph, but he wanted to know how long he had her for.

"Where did you think I was?"

He laughed, it was hollow and without emotion. "Right. You best be off then, eh?"

She frowned. "Yes."

He frowned too. He was hoping she would say no. They had her for seven years! It wasn't fair that they take her as a ghost too.

"It'll be sunrise soon. I want you there to see it." She smiled knowingly.

"Hermione?"

"Yes?"

What was he going to say? If he said nothing, would she still leave? "I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too."

She faded, and he shivered. His whole body was shaking, and he wasn't certain if it was the battle or the quite literal touch she had on his heart. Whatever it was, he stayed where he was until the building stopped moving and the screams had silenced. That was when he found himself into the hallway, searching for his parents. That was when he found them in the Great Hall searching for him. Together they watched Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Never-Stayed-Dead defeat Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. One great flash of light, and the war was over.

Over. And the first rays of sunlight lit the end of the war, of enemies, of a boy and a girl. Of him and of her.

* * *

><p>AN: Two more chapters await.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

The celebrations took place in the ruins of Hogwarts behind him, the noise a little muffled, a little broken in his head, but the lake... The lake was placid, unchanged, a deep color before it lightened by the rising sun. It was breaking over the horizon. It was as though he was a schoolboy again, and he was taking a stroll before his classes, to clear his head, to be alone, and he always looked to the tree where Hermione used to sit, her head bent over a book, her fingers idly but lovingly tracing page after page before she turned them.

Nothing was the same, and that applied most especially of Draco Malfoy. If there was anything that was to change a man, it was a ghost of their supposed arch-nemesis, the embodiment of everything they hated. It was that ghost that saved his life. Not just when he was cowering underneath the desk, but his whole life, his direction of it. Because of her, he wanted to do better, and it was sad, because no one would ever know that. They wouldn't see the change in him.

A breeze caught him still. It formed around him and moved on. It was colder than the air, colder than the lake. He turned, curious, and saw Hermione Granger, the embodiment of his change and love, watching him.

"Potter did it," she sighed.

"Yeah."

She stood close to him, her lips a hairs width from his, nearly encasing them in their freezing atmosphere. A beautiful, enticing place that he only wished was warmer to match the inferno that was raging inside of him. Then, she said the words that crashed into him and left him immobile.

"I guess this is goodbye."

Panicked, he gazed into her see-through face. "Why?"

"I must leave. I know how to get there now."

"Get to where?"

"Heaven, I hope."

He thought of pearly gates and St. Peter and the load of rubbish he heard as a child. He knew Hermione was a believer, and he would be too if she was allowed admittance. He never be allowed in, not for his crimes. "You're already an angel."

"Thank you."

He had to ask. He would hate himself forever if he didn't. It was selfish and he was okay with that as long as she was by his side. She was his light, she was more than what kept him up with the moon, she was the girl that made Potter seem righteous. She proved every mudblood tale wrong. She ended the old him and healed the new, and what more could there be?

"Please stay?"

She pacified him, he could see that much. "What would I do here?"

"I dunno. Nick's had about enough of Gryffindor, I'm sure. Take his place."

"I can't. I simply cannot." She laughed softly, gazing at him endearingly that only succeeded in cracking his heart. Suddenly, it was as though it was made out of ice, something that could be melted or destroyed.

There had to be something... Something he could do. "It hurts. Help me. Fix me."

There was no possible way to explain the tortured look on her face, as though she was under the greatest torment of a split mind. "I have to go."

"Don't. Don't go."

She blinked furiously, staring right into his eyes as if what she said next would be the most important thing she'd ever say. "You did great, Draco."

"I didn't do anything."

"You gave me a way to move on. Harry and Ron, and Luna, they would've died without you. I saw it today, you know. Your Patronus. You sent it to help Harry, Dean and Luna. Thank you for that."

Only vaguely did he remember doing that. It seemed like forever ago, not hours. He shouldn't have done what he did, but there was a lot of things he did that he shouldn't have done. At that reminder, he was angry. Angry at her for bringing up his insolence toward who he was raised to be, and for her leaving him.

She was leaving him...

"I don't care about them! You can hate me if you want. You can ramble nonsense out of textbooks you know I'll never read. Stay." He was bargaining. He was begging. He'd do anything. He had already tarnished the great name of Malfoy. What more harm could he possibly do?

"Draco... This wasn't our time. It wasn't supposed to be us." She backed away, her edges softening, becoming more translucent. He was losing her. "We have seconds to sunrise. Officially," she added because she had to.

"Hermione -"

"I love you, Draco." It was said quickly. She was leaving him.

"Don't go."

"You were my best friend." He could see the light of the sun rising above its peak, over the lake, it shining right through her, as if she wasn't even there.

He should have told her he loved her, told her that she was everything good in him, but he did none of those things. Instead he yelled at the top of his lungs that would echo in the mountains beyond, and cause ripples in the lake. "No...No. Granger!" He lunged, his arms reaching out for nothing, and he collided with the ground, the grass pricking his face. There was no ice, there was no Hermione. Winter had vanished and summer returned.

He was alone. In the end, he should have known that she would leave him forever. It was once all he wanted, and it became what he feared most. His worst nightmare transforming in front of his eyes.

Droplets of tears fell to the ground, and he buried himself into the earth there, and replayed the fact in his head over and over. Hermione was gone. Hermione was gone. _Granger is dead._

He wished he was too.

There was nothing to hold on to, to keep him from falling, so he fell into the nearest memory, their last stolen moment.

_ As Malfoy strolled a corridor on the seventh floor, hoping to catch a glimpse of Granger, his arm was grabbed and he stumbled into a softly lit classroom. He stumbled right into someone small and soft. Someone that smelled of books and summer._

_ "Granger!"_

_ "I need your help."_

_ He had to say no and turn her away. They couldn't be caught together, they worked too hard to be where they were at. Pretending that nothing happened. "I can't help you."_

_ She went on as though she hadn't heard him. "I've tried to practice Occlumency but I can't seem to perfect it."_

_ "I can't help you," he repeated._

_ "You must. I want to teach you something as well. Harry's been -" She stopped and appeared to be correcting something in her mind. "Harry's been teaching me how to make a Patronus. I'd like to teach you as well."_

_ "That's advanced." He was only surprised that Granger hadn't learned years ago. Sometimes he forgot that the girl didn't know everything._

_ "Yes, well..."_

_ "This is an exchange?"_

_ "I need to learn to protect myself because I'll be going with Harry. You need to learn because you'll be with..."_

_ That night they set about learning every night until three in the morning. It set its toll on both of them, haggard and worn with worries and studies, to keep up appearances as well. It didn't help that Draco was in a confined space with Hermione for three hours every night with a forbidden temptation to touch her. It's not as though he ever kissed her, nothing more than holding her hand or brushing her hair from her face, but not being able to do those things set a wall between them._

_ In a month Draco produced his first Patronus. Hermione clapped and squealed watching with delight as a smaller-than-life white smoky dragon curled itself around her. She twirled, following its pattern around her and his heart contracted._

_ "What were you thinking?"_

_ "Flying in Bristol." It was a lie. He was thinking about her and snowflakes._

_ "Well, I'm surprised that worked. It has to be something really strong... But that's brilliant, Malfoy!"_

_ "What's yours," he asked as the dragon faded._

_ "An otter."_

_ "May I see it?"_

_ She smiled sadly. "It's a problem for me, really."_

_ He rose a brow, not believing her one bit. "There's a spell too difficult for Granger?"_

_ "I have a lot of happy memories, but it has to be more than happiness. It has to elate you, fill you up." She flopped in a chair. "I have worries. Harry and Ron. Umbridge and her stupid rules!" She bent her face into her hands._

_ "It's one memory, Granger. Nothing from your childhood?"_

_ She looked up, dirt brown eyes pooled. "My parents travel. I've been nearly everywhere in the world, Malfoy, because my parents think that running from martial issues is the best way to cope. It's why I spend every holiday possible with Ron. It's... Difficult there. The yelling."_

_ "When you conjure your Patronus, what is it that you think of?"_

_ She drew her sleeve over her face, sniffed, and stood. "Occlumency now."_

_ "Hermione."_

_ "I've been practicing the method. I don't think it will be a problem."_

_ Mentally he gathered himself. Penetrating someone else's mind he had no qualms about. Granger, on the other hand, was someone he felt unprepared to handle. He already felt compassion for her jagged and pathetic childhood. What would he feel when he was experiencing them himself? _

_ "Legilimens."_

Hermione curled in a ball in her bed crying as a man and woman screamed disparaging comments at each other. In her distress a flowered box beside her bed began playing tinkling noise and books began flying off their shelves, flapping around her.

Hermione meeting Dumbledore in her quaint lounge of oranges and dark woods. She sat straight, her bronze bushy head held high asking too many questions but never once baffling the old man.

Hermione gazing up at Hogwarts for the first time in the rocky boat. Her eyes were wide, entranced and excited.

Hermione crying alone in a bathroom, the slew of insults drowning her better than her salty tears.

Hermione in the library a dozen times to read and escape.

Hermione performing complicated spells in her bed at the girls dormitory.

Hermione slapping him, Potter and Weasley grappling to hold her back, his own face a mask of horror and shock.

Hermione smiling after slapping him, his back retreating down into the dungeons.

Hermione worrying over his injuries with the oversized bird.

Hermione laughing at a joke Weasley told.

Hermione laughing with Potter outside of the library.

Hermione's Patronus, an otter circling her head as her thoughts circled him.

_Draco gasped as he exited her mind, falling back into a desk. He gripped its sides as the object of his deepest affection was on the floor, tears pouring._

_ He ran out of the room. He couldn't comfort her or bear her tears. It was too late to stay away from Hermione Granger, and that was exactly why he had to stay away. If he loved her anymore than he already did, his insides would surely suffer combustion._

"Are you looking for Druns?"

Draco peered up and saw bare feet, rolled up slacks, and a flowery muggle blouse, and straggly dirty bond hair that was wrapped around a corked necklace. Finally, he met the protuberant silver blue eyes of Luna, her wand behind her ear.

"Would you like help?"

He shook his head, and got to his feet. It was the most difficult thing he ever had to do, to get up after Hermione left. Where she left to he could only guess, but wherever she was was too good for him.

"What do you want, Lovegood?"

"I saw you wandering out here. It is nice. We should all eat out here."

He walked past her, but she kept his stride annoyingly.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For your Patronus. It was enchanting." Luna then took his hand, wrapping it in hers. The simple act stopped him in his steps, and he looked down at her questioningly. He wanted to snatch out of her hold, but it was the only thing holding him there.

"You won't be alone." She nodded, as if he had said something worth noting, and she watched the clouds in the sky moving by and returned to him. "I'll be your friend."

His mind was swimming.

"I believe Hermione would be pleased. Come, I'll share my pumpkin pie. It's really rather good."

The promise of food did nothing to ease his loss, but she did. Luna and her airy presence calmed him just like those nights in Malfoy Manor. So he followed her without knowing what else to do, how else to begin his life, but Luna would know.

The sun took his Hermione away, and moon and rain would not give her back. If he thought of stealing the stars, well, Hermione was Hermione, and if he wanted to see her again, then he would keep them in the sky where they belonged. Where she belonged.

* * *

><p>AN: There's an epilogue.

I added the memory of the Patronus in this chapter because when someone suffers a loss, they do feel lost, and I imagined Draco grappling for anything steady, so he went for the sweetest memory filled with sweet memories in of itself. I wanted to show that Draco learned strength from her, even if he didn't feel his strongest. That in an unconscious move, he decided to remember a good memory.

Why did I not place him saving Harry, Luna and Dean in the previous chapter? Because it was hours before anything else interesting happened.


	11. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Draco carefully smoothed the black collar on Scorpius pressed robe. He must look presentable as he would be representing the whole Malfoy family. It was important that his son leave a better mark on the school than he did. That was to say, Scorpius had better not destroy it, not attempt murder or curses, and make the right sort of friends. Friends like Hermione and Lovegood and Nott (who knew better than to be involved in Draco's bullying).

"There you go, son."

"Thank you, but dad, what if I get Gryffindor?"

Draco laughed. "Every Malfoy worries about that, son, but I will love you no matter what house chooses you. Your grandparents will too," he added before Scorpius could question it.

Draco's wife, Astoria, a beautiful witch with coal black hair and kinder doe eyes than any Slytherin he ever knew, touched his elbow with her fingertips. It alerted him to where her sights laid and there they were, the Potter's with their three young children, and Weasley and Luna Lovegood-Weasley with their twins.

Astoria turned to Scorpius and began lecturing him on the importance of his decorum while Draco made his way over to his old friend. He hugged her, and nodded to Weasley, whom he could never forgive. Even nineteen years later, he couldn't help the itch to murder him. Luna was the only one who mattered. Luna and Hermione's memory, and so he ignored the Weasel.

"Daddy, can Hermione and me go play with Scorpius," Lorcan asked. While he and his sister had inherited their father's flaming hair, they kept Luna's eyes, and the two colors of red and silver offset their whole appearance, making them more ethereal than Luna was in her day.

Weasley wrinkled his nose, clearly opposed to the idea as he always was, but Luna was the first to answer in the same serene voice. "I think that's a nice idea."

Lorcan and Hermione raced each other across the platform to stop short of Scorpius and instantly engaged him into a vibrant conversation. The wild gestured waving, he assumed, to mean the enormity of the rebuilt Hogwarts.

It was some years after Draco left the ruins of his school grounds that he met Luna again, their children in tow. Each Sunday they would meet at a muggle park and let the children run rampant together. It was to the utmost disgust to Weasley that their children were such good friends, which made it all the more fun.

"Hermione Granger would be proud."

Weasley's face hardened with dislike, and Draco straightened his back and sneered, "You have a problem with my son, Weasley?"

"That's - it's." He glowered, and was saved by Harry's presence. He had been talking softly with his son off to the side.

"Good to see you, Malfoy." He extended his hand in a more friendly way than his mate ever would.

"You too, Potter. The kids alright?"

He nodded, "quite alright," as James, Albus and Lily spotted Lorcan, Hermione and Scorpius and rushed off to meet them.

"How is young Scorpius," Ginny Potter asked sincerely.

"A strapping lad," he said proudly, looking over at his son in time to see Hermione blushing, Scorpius' chin head aloft in satisfaction. He wasn't sure how he felt about that yet.

Astoria reached into her pockets and withdrew three peanut butter sandwiches for the children. She was convinced that the food on the train was not healthy enough, and told Scorpius off time and time again for sneaking sweets into the house. What she didn't know was that Draco gave him those sweets, and every time she stuffed them into a drawer for the Houselves he snuck them back to their son.

She had apparently found a hidden piece of chocolate for Draco could hear her chastising him. "Scorpius Granger!"

Him and the Weasley's and Potters all laughed. Scorpius had a sly grin when his mother wasn't looking. Feeling like it was too much of a camaraderie, Draco went back to his wife and son. Draco sneakily slipped his hand into Astoria's pocket and took out the sweets.

The train whistled, and all of the parents hugged and kissed their children and hurriedly sent them off. Draco hugged Scorpius tightly, and whispered in his ear, "don't forget to write and remember, you're house is of no importance." He dropped the sweets into his pocket.

Scorpius grinned, and boarded the train, and Draco raised to his feet grasping Astoria's hand as Scorpius leaned out of the window and waved. Scorpius looked just like Draco when he was young and he had the same excitable eyes, glinting with joy.

Before the train went out of sight, Draco could see Scorpius leaning forward chatting happily with his friends. The good sort of friends.

Astoria leaned against him, and he kissed the top of her hair.

Luna approached softly behind them. "Lunch?"

"Lunch sounds lovely," Astoria said kindly.

And so they went, to eat and discuss their children, houses and futures, but that night, Draco would remember when he was eleven years old and he spotted a girl with bushy brown hair and large front teeth.

* * *

><p>AN: This is the end. For those wondering how Draco married Astoria, it was a set-up made by Draco's parents. While it being a good distraction at first, Draco did fall in love with her.

I cannot possibly give you all enough love. I write because I have to, but if one person enjoys it then it's a huge bonus. Here, I have had a lot of those. You all are beautiful. Thank you for sticking with me through happy and sad endings.

More stories are on their way.


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